


Voler sans Tomber (Flying without Falling)

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood Drinking, Bonding, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, Exhaustion, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Frustration, Guilt, Healing, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Matthew Good Band - Freeform, Possessive Lucifer, Protective Lucifer, Rare Pair Fest, Romance, Sick Dean Winchester, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Lucifer can break him so <em>perfectly</em> that he feels like he isn’t being broken at all; so maybe he really isn’t, just maybe it’s something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voler sans Tomber (Flying without Falling)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyoneill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/gifts).



> Season 7 divergence from canon, based on the notion that Lucifer might not have been a hallucination. Warnings for blood drinking, alcoholism and enough language to up the rating a little (the only reason this is rated Mature by the way).   
> This was written for ladyoneill for Rare Pair Fest 2013. The prompt was: Lucifer/Dean Winchester, hinting at a broken, alcoholic Dean. I love a broken and alcoholic Dean myself, and I got a little carried away but I hope you enjoy!  
>  _Soundtrack:_ Matthew Good Band’s ‘A Boy and His Machine Gun’

_~When you’re finished struggling_   
_Are you free tonight?_   
_Did they stick you in here_   
_Cause you weren’t working right?~_

 

_There’s something gnawing at him to wake up or at least stop drifting long enough to pay attention to his dreams. If there’s one thing that Dean hates though, it’s nightmares, and he’s not going to stop running from them if he can help it._

_Though the thing, whatever the hell it is, keeps on nagging at him. It whispers his name like it’s the solution to all problems, scratches at his mind timidly yet with an urgency that he can feel, and tries to weave its way into Dean’s subconscious._

_‘What do you want?’ He screams, his head turning every possible direction in his panic. He sees only darkness closing in on him._

_‘I want you. But I want you to let me in.’ It replies and Dean thinks he recognizes the voice, thinks he’d be able to pinpoint it if he could just take a second, stop running and get hold of himself again._

_He never does get that chance._

 

He’s in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet heaving even though his body can’t take anymore, even though his head is reeling and he can’t see a damn thing through the tears of exertion, pain and frustration leaking out of his stinging eyes and blinding him. He half swallows and tries, _fails_ to draw in a decent breath before he’s hunched over again, every part of him throbbing as a sob rips its way out of his torn up throat. 

It’s his own fault for drinking this much for too long, for determining he never has an appetite anymore and therefore not eating. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He doesn’t even have the strength to jump as he starts to heave again, and there isn’t anything at all for his body to bring up but it doesn’t seem to matter. It feels like he’s being ripped apart from the inside, lungs and heart near to bursting, skin on fire and peeling, and his death flashes through his mind for a moment, the hell hounds ripping him apart and Lucifer’s mercifully cold hand on his neck draws him back down. He leans into the touch just because he doesn’t want to go back there. 

His shirt is soaked with sweat and Lucifer pulls it off him, cold fingers settling on Dean’s back and rubbing the overheated skin slowly, sending Dean into a lull and he sags back against him. He comes back to himself in a rush, shivering, pushing himself away from Lucifer with all the strength he has left, which isn’t much. He swallows, waits for the nausea to come back again, scoots closer to the toilet in case he isn’t done yet. 

The devil stares at him carefully, as if determining whether he should move closer or leave Dean be. He chooses the former, his hand reaching for the human and Dean backs away, managing to get back up on his feet again and leave the bathroom. With his blurred eyesight he can just make out a full bottle on the counter and he heads toward it. He wants to drink so much that he can’t even remember his own name anymore, blind to Lucifer’s presence and deaf to his words. 

His hands close around the bottle but it now feels dreadfully empty. 

As empty as Dean feels inside. 

Without hesitation he throws the bottle against the opposite wall in a rage, then suddenly seems to lose control and slides down to the floor, sobbing, his entire body shaking. Lucifer steps forward cautiously but stops in his tracks when Dean’s head lifts up off his chest to look at him. “Thought you hated us,” he mumbles, “thought you hated me.”

“Oh, Dean,” he steps forward again, reaching out for the hunter hesitantly. “Sweetheart...”

“Don’t touch me.” Dean growls, but then his head drops back down and he curls into himself, and when Lucifer puts his arms around him and holds him as his body is racked by heartbreaking sobs, he doesn’t pull away. 

“You need to stop drinking, kiddo,” he says, as he rubs a hand down Dean’s quivering, sweat soaked back. 

“Go away,” Dean breathes out, taking a shuddering breath, trying to will his limbs to work again so he can push the archangel away. He needn’t bother though, Lucifer is there one minute but he’s gone the next, leaving the Winchester boy with a gaping hole in his heart. 

 

It’s still the morning and Dean’s fourth glass of scotch is already half gone, and still his body screams unrelentingly for more. He reaches for the bottle, wishing he could have the power to make sure it never emptied, but before his fingers even brush against it... it disappears. He glances around the room and notices the numerous bottles that have accumulated throughout the week are gone too. 

He knows what the devil’s trying to do and he doesn’t understand it, but it is definitely pissing him off. 

He groans, the back of his hand rubbing his forehead, shaking for a moment before he stills himself forcefully. Lucifer standing not two feet away from him when he turns around does nothing to settle the human’s nerves. He jumps and the now empty glass slips out of his hand to shatter on the tile. He almost, _almost_ tells Lucifer to fuck off, but he decides not to give him the satisfaction and instead sits down on the couch and flips on the TV. He can’t pay attention, continuing to tremble, mouth bone dry with the need for another drink, even just one more sip. 

The devil plays his game for a little while, keeping his distance and staying silent, but Dean can feel his eyes on his back, causing a tingling sensation to travel up his spine and spread outside of his comfort zone. He swallows, trying not to turn around, trying to stay calm...

“Come on, Dean. Look at me. You can’t ignore me forever.”

Dean thinks he pretty much could, if he had the strength to put his mind to it, but his resolve is pretty much null and he’s about ready to beg for another bottle. Or at least for him to go away and potentially never come back. A few more minutes pass before Dean shuts the TV off in frustration, “You gonna have a temper tantrum if I keep pretending you don’t exist, aren’t you?” Lucifer shrugs at that, but then a smirk lights up his face and Dean sighs, “Can I at least have _something_ to drink?”

Lucifer nods in response, walking over to grab him another glass and filling it with water. Dean takes it, his entire world stilling for a mere instant at the sensation of Lucifer’s fingers brushing against his own. “Drink all of it,” he warns, “you’re dehydrated and you need to drink water.” 

Dean only sighs heavily and holds his glass up, “Cheers,” before knocking the glass of water back. There’s an odd taste to it, but Dean’s not gonna complain. Although, Lucifer’s hands on his throat before he can even blink cause him to yelp in surprise and confusion. The pads of his fingers stroke the skin possessively before his nails protrude and sink into the exposed skin of his throat, drawing blood that trickles down his neck, lapped up by the archangel’s tongue before it stains his shirt. “What are you doing?” 

“Claiming you,” he responds, pulling away for a moment and the hunter can see his blood staining his teeth. He shivers, unable to move, unable to protest. Lucifer finishes with one last lick covering a broad expanse of his throat, and without even looking in the mirror Dean knows he’s stopped the blood flow. 

The archangel takes his time in making sure every drop is in the confines of his mouth, coating his teeth and numbing his tongue, and that none is located at the corners. He grins at Dean then, who rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and crashes on the couch. Lucifer settles beside him, wrapping a lazy arm around the human. 

“You feel like taking a nap?” He offers and without a word, Dean leans over to snuggle into the archangel’s side, his eyes closing of their own accord, breathing evening out seconds later. 

Lucifer can still taste him on his tongue, and there isn’t anything sweeter in existence. 

 

The archangel has been visiting his dreams for months, as if he’s supposed to save him from the horrors the human usually experiences in his nightmares, as if he’s obligated to decimate Dean’s suffering and draw him into a place where Lucifer can hunger for him, his gaze unwavering and hands never remaining at his sides. Dean’s long since figured out that he isn’t planning on permanently scarring him in any possible way, except maybe increasing the hunter’s dependence on him. Yet even devouring Dean’s blood is a somewhat pleasurable experience for the hunter as well as the devil. 

There’s just something in the archangel’s eyes that he can’t even begin to figure out or understand. 

_Lucifer’s eyes are a brilliant crimson as he takes the human in, and Dean feels like he’s stark naked under his stare. He smiles, his hands wrapping around Dean’s arms, fingertips digging into his skin, drawing blood and Dean can still see the bruises from the days before, symbols of being in the archangel's possession. Dean feels akin to a trapped animal as his eyes never leave him, such fire that lights Dean up in excitement as the archangel shoves him backwards. His back collides too suddenly, without warning, into the concrete wall and he grimaces, though he knows better than to tell himself to break away now._

_It seems that he's captured the devil's attention, and now he knows there's no hope in diverting that hunger._

_Lucifer surges forward and presses tightly up against him, holding him in place, and Dean knows there's many more bruises and much more pain to come tonight. Lucifer admires each and every one, knowing he’s the cause of the dark, colorful marks on the hunter’s skin, his eyes thoughtful as he takes in how fragile humans are, how swiftly and nearly permanently he can damage them, damage Dean. At that realization, Dean shivers until his head moves forward to connect with Lucifer's, mouth searching for his in the darkness._

_He could tell him to take the bruises away and he would, he's done it before, which makes Dean realize how much he wants all this, as much as the devil does. How much he wants the pain and the love bites and the blood loss that makes him dizzy and yet sated afterward._

_Dean’s felt a little weird about this the first couple of times; having the devil himself fuck you and drink your blood is pretty fucked up enough, but it’s the fact that they’re doing all this in a dream that really freaks the hunter out._

_Is it technically real, or is Lucifer not really in his dreams, instead putting these images in his head?_

_It feels real though, real enough to shake Dean to the core, to make him finally, happily let go and relax, a relaxation that continues on as the devil leaves him drifting in a peaceful world filled with calming silence; soft, angelic light and complete bliss in unawareness. That peculiar feeling of happiness tends to last for hours after he wakes up, making him easygoing and anxiety-free._

_He doesn't push Dean backwards, his hand instead cradling the back of his head and pulling him closer, tongue dipping deeper into his mouth and Lucifer moans because Dean tastes too good right now._

_Too good to hold back any longer._

_‘You good, baby?’ Dean nods at that, almost too small to miss but Lucifer searches for it and catches it and smiles widely in appreciation. Because he may have lost sight of it all for too long, may have been hiding in Sam’s head, hiding from the world and pouting, racked by denial and jealously and anger. He’s been filled with rage, then replaced with boredom, until he no longer understood who or what he was anymore. But Dean is a prize that he can take, a prize that he wants even more because Dean offers himself up willingly to him._

_Sam never wanted anything to do with him, tried to ignore him even though it was useless just to spite him. As he continuously kept on looking out at Dean through Sam’s eyes, intrigue soon took hold of him. Dean was oblivious, but when he obtained another vessel Dean finally saw him and actually looked at him and talked to him, and it filled Lucifer up with something he thought he would never experience again: friendship._

_And ultimately later on: love._

_He feels warm when he notices Dean, sees how good of a person he is, how beautiful he is and he doesn’t understand how he ever could have missed it._

_He feels warm and whole and wanted when Dean notices him. And it’s then that he slowly begins to realize how unworthy of life and love Dean feels, and he wants to give the world and eternity to this one human, he wants to show him all the good he does, that he deserves more than to just be loved. He deserves to be appreciated and adored._

_It’s taking a long time, what with him having to weave his way into Dean’s life, gaining his trust and earning his friendship. Now he gets to the hard part, and nothing in his existence has ever felt more worth it than this. He’s forever hated humans because they are so broken and flawed, but there’s something he loves about how broken Dean is. Maybe it’s just that he’s broken and suffering in all the right places, that he’s speechlessly beautiful when he cries, too weak not to hand his trust over to him._

_He smiles at Dean, at how willing and gorgeous he is, and knows that this is the place he needs to be, wants to be, the reason he ditched Sam and then Castiel. With one last moment of hesitation and admiration, the devil takes over for good this time._

 

_Two months later..._

This is just not Dean Winchester’s day. 

Lucifer failing to show up immediately is what makes it even more of a terrible day, a day he just wants to leave down deep in a bottle, never to be thought of or spoken about again. 

Sure, Lucifer likes to tease him, likes to slam him up against walls or wrap Dean in a cold as death embrace to get his attention. And sure, Lucifer likes to bite him during sex, like a fucking vampire, lapping up his blood with his sharp, forked tongue; and yeah, Lucifer leaves painful bruises on his body, makes him so exhausted that sometimes Dean can't even for the life of him get out of bed. 

One thing he never does though is emotionally hurt Dean. That is a line he rarely crosses and if he does, he always makes sure to amply apologize and hand over control to Dean as a gift. 

He praises him and tells Dean how good he is, tells Dean that he deserves to be happy because he's a good person and Lucifer loves him for this reason among plenty others. He gets angry then surprisingly gentle when the hunter feels guilt or grief, and he never forces Dean to do anything when he's broken and wanting to hide away from the world. He never leaves Dean when he's like this, and when Sam comes around he hides, making himself invisible to both of them but always making sure Dean can feel his presence. 

He indulges Dean and shows his love for him by comforting him and making him feel good. 

He makes sure Dean knows he can count on him. 

The hunt was bad and he was damn lucky to be able to hide his injury from Sam, even though he could feel his eyes on him the entire drive back to the motel. He drove, like he always does, even though his leg was continuously throbbing and screaming at him for a break every time he had to stop at a red light or slam on the brakes when some idiot pulled out in front of him. It was all he could do not to groan in pain, not to tell Sam to take over. 

Dean had hung back at the motel after that, letting Sam go off to the library on his own, leaving his brother to wallow in his own guilt of another person they weren’t able to save. This is perfectly fine, Dean likes it better this way. Likes it better when he can be alone, when there's no one around to tell him that this one wasn’t his fault either, just like the rest of them. 

They all stand in an endless line to haunt him, eyes sad and questioning, hands reaching for him in desperation, wanting him to atone for his sins. 

Every person who counted on him to save them, every person who trusted him and got killed for it, _is_ his fault. Dean has never denied it, and he's always beat himself up about it because it's his job to, and it's Sam's job to try to get him to open up, to repeatedly tell him that it's not his fault, that he can't hold the weight of the world on his shoulders like he keeps on doing. 

He loves Sam and he doesn't want Sam to worry about him, but one thing he can't do is forgive himself. 

No matter how annoyed and frustrated Sam gets, and no matter how mad Lucifer becomes, he can never _not_ blame himself. 

This is one of those fucking days, Dean thinks, when he can't get a hold of himself and instead curls up on the couch, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers and a half dozen more, either empty or full, adorning the room as a monument to his idiocy and absolute inability to drown his sorrows in a single bottle.

He's too numb to cry or not numb enough, too damn tired to lift his ass up off the most uncomfortable fucking couch in the world to grab another bottle, too out of it to hope that Lucifer will stop by any longer. 

He's always the one to find Dean like this, always there to pick up the pieces even though Dean deserves to be like this: broken and dead to the world. The rest of the time, Lucifer can break him in reality until he imagines he can’t be tainted and shattered further. He can torment him in his dreams, exude possessiveness much like what he did with Sammy, but when he’s like this, the archangel’s eyes hold all the pity and love that the world contains and Dean really fucking hates that. 

And Dean finds himself, against his own will, really loving it too. 

“Dean.”

His vision fades back into his surroundings at the sound of his voice, but it can only focus enough to recognize that it's Lucifer and not Sam before he can't help but space out again. 

The archangel's voice draws him back though, back from the edge... 

“Let's get you into bed, huh?” Lucifer takes the bottle out of his hand and it takes longer than it should for him to realize it, hand going up to his mouth again before realizing there's nothing in it. He sighs, the world tilting on a dangerous axis around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut to make the world just go away and hopefully never come back to smack him in the face again. 

Lucifer isn't hovering in front of him when he opens his eyes what feels like hours later. He glances over and he's actually turning down the bed, setting a glass of water on the bedside table. It's the strangest sight he thinks he's ever seen, and he's seen a lot of pretty freaky shit. 

“Can't you just snap your fingers?” He murmurs, voice hurting, grating painfully and the archangel looks up at him before examining the bed further, fluffing the pillows. 

“Not when it comes to you,” he gives as a simple answer, and then he walks back over to the hunter. “You should've called me and told me you were hurt.” His tone is overly gentle as it washes over Dean in a cool wave, though his fingers are even more so as they brush against the wound on his leg briefly, healing it within an instant, without Dean having to suffer in silence. 

“Since when have you known me to ever do that?” He can usually stitch himself up before Lucifer stops by, though the archangel knows every single time he even gets a mere scratch, with the look of understanding in his eyes when he does happen to show up. They never talk about it but after sex, when they're snuggling together, the excuse being for Dean to keep cool in the usual hot nights, Lucifer kisses every one of his scars to show the hunter that he knows.

Knows Dean’s pain and his recklessness when he just needs to feel alive and see himself bleed. 

The pain doesn't dissipate as Dean thought it would. The pressure is everywhere, suffocating him, making it increasingly harder to breathe and without another moment to attempt to hold himself together in front of the archangel, tears start streaming down his face and he whimpers lightly. 

It’s low enough for him to ignore it, but he would never abandon Dean to his own methods of self-harm. 

“It's okay, Dean,” his soothing voice accompanies the hand which strays to his hair, petting through the greasy spikes. “I know, baby. I know.” Because he always knows: when a hunt goes wrong, when someone gets killed when Dean was supposed to save them.

Dean usually gets embarrassed and pissed off when Lucifer talks to him like this, when he calls him 'baby,' but the hunter can't do much of anything right now but just lie there, cursing and calling himself an idiot and trying to pull himself together even though he knows it's too late for that. 

He wants to ask Lucifer why he even puts up with this shit, all the things Dean inflicts on himself just for the hell of it, just because he can’t forget or forgive and he can’t always hold it in like he believes he can. Sam would probably kill to be the one here right now, to comfort Dean when he’s always ready to but never gets the chance. It’s fucking embarrassing around his baby brother, to show any sort of weakness. 

Whenever he’s with Sam and even when he’s not, he always pushes himself to protect him and to make sure he’s okay physically and emotionally. He can’t not, it’s been drilled into him since he was just a kid, who didn’t know or want anything but loving and protecting Sammy. 

With Lucifer he can relax, he doesn’t have to worry his brother. Dean can take a break from his responsibilities and all the pressures life places on him and that he places on himself. He can forget that when he looks into a mirror he hates what he sees, nitpicks every single thing reflected back at him. There are no expectant or judgmental looks from the devil, just genuine fascination and love. 

Lucifer likes it when Dean trusts him, when Dean allows the archangel to take care of him. 

It doesn’t make any if this easier though. 

“M’ fucking tired,” he manages to get out in between sobs, his body shaking with exertion and the need to relax or else. He needs another drink but there’s no way Lucifer will even let him take another sip. He does, however, pick Dean up gently in his arms and carry him over to the bed, tucking him in under the soft sheets and kissing his chapped lips lightly, no further intrusions on his part, before sliding in next to Dean and pulling the hunter close so that he can rest against him. “M’ so fucking tired,” he repeats, moaning in pain as his head continues to viciously throb, as the cold Lucifer emits doesn’t seem to be enough to bring down the heat racking his body. 

“Go to sleep, kiddo.” Lucifer plants a line of soft kisses down his neck and along his forehead, straying up into his hair, which he ruffles slightly. “You’re hot,” he remarks after a moment, with a hint of concern in his voice as his hands run up and down Dean’s arms. 

Dean can’t even spit out a thanks as he rests his aching forehead against Lucifer’s cool neck, and promptly falls asleep in the archangel’s loving embrace.

 

_Release doesn’t come with sleep, he should never have expected that it would. He wanted to wallow in Lucifer’s attention, relax in his arms forever but his head, everything actually, had hurt too much and he was dead tired from too little sleep in the past week. In the end, his need for reprieve won out over his want of saying awake with his archangel._

_Huh... his._

_He had never called Lucifer ‘his’ before, never imagined he’d be able to or even want to. But a lot of things have changed since Dean met Lucifer again, properly this time around. Most of them good._

_‘It’s alright, you’re safe here. Stop tensing.’ Upon recognizing the voice the hunter’s shoulders slump, all tension draining from them that wasn’t quite accomplished when he was awake. His body nearly collapses like a dead weight to the ground but firm, careful hands hold him up and he looks up to see Lucifer’s vessel’s beautiful and calming face._

_Dean smiles, letting Lucifer hug him and run cold fingers down his back; he shivers, but there’s no fear or desire to leave. Lucifer followed him into his dreams to protect him, to prove that he wouldn’t leave Dean alone when he was forced to retreat into darkness and doubt, and Dean has never known an act of greater dedication._

_‘You’re adorable when you’re so pliant and needy.’_

_‘Just shut up and hold me.’ Dean answers, comfortable at allowing the archangel to hold him up and cool him down with every brush of his fingertips on his sensitive skin._

_‘You got it, sweetheart.’_

 

Lucifer likes it when Dean hands over control of his own needs, appreciates it when Dean lets him take care of him without protest. Most of all, the hunter thinks he just likes being here, likes to be noticed. 

Taking care of Dean gives him a perfect reason to be noticed. 

Lucifer weans him off alcohol slowly, giving him a sip or two whenever he starts shaking. Dean needs more, he needs it as much as he wants to just fade away, right here in his arms, but Lucifer doesn’t leave any booze lying around and he doesn’t let Dean leave the room. He makes sure the hunter has everything he could possibly need, and he always makes sure he’s fed, bathed and well-rested when Dean’s as pathetically weak as a kitten, set on only snuggling up against the archangel’s blessedly cool body. 

Whenever Sam’s around he tries to help, presses Dean to drink more water and eat more than he typically does, which is practically nothing, but most of the time he just grows frustrated and angry at his brother’s lack of self-worth. He typically storms out of the room, off to do more research or whatever the hell else he does. 

Then Lucifer gets to come out and nag him, except he actually scares Dean enough for him to obey. Although, he could also be willing given that he’d rather have the archangel with him than not. When he’s gone he feels an emptiness inside that dissipates whenever Lucifer’s hungry gaze and affectionate hands are on him once more, like they don’t belong anywhere but on Dean. 

He sighs, he doesn’t want to talk; he just wants to forget about the hunt altogether. 

“You’re never to blame, Dean.” Lucifer appears again when Sam leaves, sliding onto the bed beside him, hand cupping his cheek, his thumb forming languid circles. Dean wants a drink right now more than anything, but the archangel’s mouth taking hold of his own makes him forget about that particular need altogether. “I wish you could see that.”

“Sam could walk back in right now,” he points out, “and he could see you.” 

He shrugs, “It still wouldn’t make you get rid of me.” 

Dean sighs again, knowing that’s true. He sits up and gets out of bed, restless from lying still for so long and ready to do some research. Lucifer sprawls out on the couch, flipping open a magazine. “Ever need to pick my brain, kiddo, and I’m right here. Ready to listen,” he emphasizes, glancing at Dean meaningfully for a moment before becoming engrossed in the magazine. 

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose then glances at the cover, waiting for the laptop to boot up. “Better Homes and Gardens? Really?” 

“I have future plans too, Dean.” Dean can’t form a response in the face of that, just shakes his head in exasperation and turns back to the screen. The image of him sprawling out in a hammock on a pristine white porch doesn’t leave his head for weeks afterward. And sometimes... sometimes Dean can see Lucifer baking pies in the kitchen, and while it may make him shiver it also makes him chuckle and smile, because that life seems pretty damn nice and could probably be his if he wanted it to be. 

Dean tries not to but he keeps a close eye on what the archangel reads, and it’s always stuff on houses. 

Maybe Lucifer really is planning something. Something that should terrify Dean, but instead only gives him something nice to think about other than screaming and blood and the tormenting sounds of the people he was supposed to have saved dying. 

 

Lucifer always manages to make him forget. 

Whenever he does something to grate against Dean’s nerves, he laughs more often than getting angry, none too keen on obsessing or over-thinking his motivations or just how much trust he has placed in the archangel. Lucifer drawing him out of his own head is a fucking miracle that Sam can’t even seem to accomplish most days. 

What Sam doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

The devil haunts him, a disturbing yet overly friendly ghost. He trails after him like a lost puppy that Dean should have the good sense enough to kick and not invite inside and indulge, but Lucifer actually makes Dean feel _good,_ and it’s a brand new start that he thinks it’d be stupid to shut out of his life at this point. If Sam knew he would kill Dean, if Dean thought about it for too long he’d feel even guiltier than he normally does, what with the way Lucifer has treated Sam in the past, very nearly driving him completely insane. 

Dean lets him hang around though, because he has needs and the devil doesn’t seem to harbor any ill-will towards either of them, especially Dean. He seems to delight in succeeding at making the human laugh, and he’s an understanding presence whenever Dean has to unload before he explodes. 

With the frequency and longer periods of time spent around the archangel, the lines are starting to blur a little for Dean, and his guards are starting to drop more and more and honestly, he’s not gonna do anything to stop it. 

Because he needs _this._

He needs _Lucifer_ and it’s fucked, _he’s_ fucked but he doesn’t care. 

Dean opens the door and walks into the room, throwing the keys onto the table by the door. “Hey, kiddo!” He’s greeted as soon as the door shuts, and he turns toward the small kitchenette to see Lucifer sitting atop the counter, legs dangling and moving back and forth like he’s a three year old, a grin on his face that makes Dean smile. 

He forgets that Sam’s right behind him. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Huh?” He turns around, almost betraying his own secret to his baby brother. He schools his face into a neutral look and stops his eyes from widening. “Oh... nothing. Just thinking about something...,” he trails off, trying to stop himself from looking over again. He finally realizes how fucked up this is: Lucifer being here, Lucifer watching him and smiling like they’re dating or boyfriends or whatever. Dean clears his throat and settles himself down on the bed. 

“Thinking about what?” Sam pushes despite the fact that Dean clearly wants to sleep. 

“Nothing, Sam. Just drop it,” he warns, seeing Lucifer already awaiting him in his bed, holding the covers up to sway Dean into going to bed early. He doesn’t go near him though, he just doesn’t have the willpower at this point, so instead he heads into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him, locking it. Sam’s gonna find out sooner or later, he knows this. 

And then Sam is going to kill him. 

The shower he takes is long and scalding hot, he doesn’t even step out when it goes cold. When he’s sure Sam has either left the room or is asleep, he leaves the safety of the bathroom and crawls into bed, where Lucifer is still waiting for him. Dean hums in appreciation when he drapes the sheet over him and then pulls him close so as to kiss him, their mouths lingering for as long as possible before Dean has to break away for air. 

“Wanna just tell Sam, since he’s gonna figure it out sooner or later?” Dean shakes his head almost without realizing it and the archangel nods, his arms wrapping protectively, not possessively and forcefully, around Dean. “What about a movie then?” He shakes his head again, wonders what the hell he could have done to deserve the way Lucifer is treating him, staring at him like he’s the one thing the devil will never deny he wants. 

He just wants to lie here, in the darkness and silence, wrapped up in Lucifer's arms because it’s where he feels _safe_ and at _home,_ and those two things are what Dean really fucking needs right about now. 

 

Sam slams the door shut behind him after what seems like an hour of arguing, but then Dean glances over at the clock to discover it had only been about fifteen minutes. 

They’re been doing this a lot lately. 

The devil appearing on the couch suddenly right beside him seems to help... a little, anyway. 

The whole point of Lucifer being here is so that he can comfortably lose his way, say to hell with everything and stop drowning in loneliness. Dean knows all too well that the devil could choose to love anyone or no one at all, considering his track record with humans, but yet he chooses to love him and there has to be some reason why. 

Dean can’t just settle with saying that he’s delusional and obviously blind anymore. 

What’s so different and better about him than anyone else? Sam has so many more redeemable qualities than he does that it’s not even funny. It’s fucking bitter, all of this, and somehow it hurts worse because he didn’t choose Sam. He doesn’t deserve to be loved and yet here the actual devil is. Loving him. 

Because apparently the devil can love after all. 

Dean actually fucking smiles because the fact that he means this much to someone is not only too difficult to believe, but also a little exhilarating. He’s been asking himself for weeks how he feels about him, a weight on his chest he can’t shake. 

He needs to know if he can picture Lucifer hanging around him for the rest of his life. No longer a temporary presence, but a permanent one. 

He likes it when Lucifer bruises him; he needs to feel alive and can actually sleep better knowing that he belongs to someone. Knowing that whatever the hell he does, it won’t just affect him and Sam anymore. He likes it when he comes back from a hunt and sees Lucifer waiting for him, not angry or taunting but actually goddamn smiling at him and inviting him over to sit beside him. He loves it with the devil fucks him in his dreams and in reality, when Lucifer makes known exactly who Dean belongs to, exactly what Lucifer can do to him. 

These days, Dean feels happy when he glances at himself in the mirror, his archangel’s marks of possession strewn across his body, pleasurably aching. 

Dean does want him. He wants how lightheaded he feels when Lucifer drinks his blood, the taste of it lingering in his mouth when he kisses him; he wants the cold he emanates, soaking into Dean wholeheartedly, making him feel sated and comfortable. He wants how he always seems to want attention, but then gives it to Dean in return; the kisses that smother him and make him feel wanted and loved. 

He wants Lucifer. 

And he suspects that’s exactly what Lucifer wants to hear. 

He finishes off his beer and puts it on the end table beside him, still wondering why it hadn’t been taken away from him. Dean takes a deep breath and tells himself the aftermath of what he’s about to say won’t be as bad as he assumes. Still, steeling his resolve is harder than he’d like to admit. Lucifer’s patient, he’s always so goddamn patient and sometimes it infuriates the hunter so much that he wants to punch him. 

“You love me, right? You just woke up one day and realized you love me?”

He’s broken him for good this time, tore down all his barriers that he fights ceaselessly to keep up so no one can see any of his weaknesses. So no one can see just how worth it he’s not. He should be pissed, he should be anything but grateful and so fucking sorry for putting Lucifer through all of his shit. He thinks he may just break down and cry right now no matter what he ends up saying; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. 

_Only I can break you, Dean._

_Only I can corrupt you, scar you, crack you like an eggshell; only I can determine how and when to fix you._

He swallows awkwardly because the archangel _must_ know that everything he does for Dean is completely welcomed. Every time he’s been right _there,_ supportive, a shoulder to lean on. He can’t sleep properly unless the devil has his hands on him, unless he’s breaking down every single one of his barriers on purpose, trying to get Dean to scream and beg and open up. Trying to get Dean to change, to break out of his cocoon and become a butterfly; Lucifer can be sappy as fuck sometimes. 

His smile could actually be termed ‘sweet’ right now if Dean was a freaking girl. “Of course I love you, Dean. Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to show you all this time?”

It must mean something that he’s waited this long, Dean just doesn’t know what. 

“Somewhere along the way, stuck in your boring brother, I fell in love with you,” Lucifer admits, with a certain sincerity that Dean didn't know he was capable of. He takes Dean's head in his hands, thumbs stroking skin, eyes glowing with love. “Even looking at you through Sam's eyes... I've always wanted you, Dean. I was just too pigheaded to realize it. You're the most beautiful, kind-hearted human I've ever met. You're the exception.” 

He’s said that last part before, and Dean could easily tell when he was thinking it too. 

After that, Dean can't help but fall apart, letting a smile break through as he leans into the archangel's touch: firm but not restricting, possessive but gentle. Lucifer's always gentle with him, even when he's not, treating him like a broken toy, a broken toy the archangel can physically scar from time to time but always builds back up again. 

The way he looks at him gives Dean a sense of self-confidence he's never exactly _felt_ before. The way the archangel holds him with his all-knowing eyes screams a love that Dean feels he might just be worthy of this time around. 

“I never imagined I'd ever meet a human like you. I thought I had seen all I needed to see, but apparently I was wrong.” Dean smiles wider at that, blushing a little and Lucifer rewards him with a warm smile of his own. The voice in his head yells at him that he doesn’t deserve this, but it’s abruptly silenced, and the devil’s smile expands into a grin. 

“You are so worthy,” Lucifer continues, and Dean kinda wants him to shut up because he’s still blushing and it’s goddamn embarrassing. “Of my love, of my attention... _everything._ You don’t realize just how precious you are, little one.” He kisses him then, slow and steady and yet heated, grounding Dean as he swallows back sobs of a happiness he never thought would be his to claim. 

Only Lucifer is allowed to break him. And yet, only Lucifer can build him up again so that he feels whole and worth something. 

Dean figures that without his guilt weighing him down, he can finally _fly._

**FIN**


End file.
